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‘How will I know you won’t stumble again once you take a sip?’ Rhys asked.
‘Because I cannot die. A thousand times I have asked to be with my husband and children and I cannot. One year ago yesterday Geoff was taken from me. They are all waiting in heaven and cannot be happy without me and yet I cannot join them.’
‘I would have thought you might wish to stay here on earth with me,’ Rhys said quietly. He strode from the room. Bellona followed.
Outside the door, Bellona caught his sleeve.
‘She is just distressed. She means none of it.’
He stopped, face stone. ‘I understand that.’ He pulled his arm from her grasp and strode to the stairs.
‘Rhys,’ she called at his heels.
He turned to her on the stairway. ‘You don’t understand.’ His face rested near hers. ‘It is not my title. It is not my estate. It was never meant to be. Never.’ His words flowed faster. ‘I do not know why Geoff did not marry and have children. I was not supposed to have it all. I don’t know whether to feel guilty for taking it or angry that it’s now mine and I cannot escape it.’
‘That has nothing to do with this moment.’
‘It is everything to do with it.’ His eyes darkened. ‘If he were here none of this would be happening. Things would be as they should be. They would be—controlled. The world was taken and torn like little scraps of paper and tossed into the air. All scattered and in bits that cannot be mended.’
‘Do you wish to tumble down the stairs as well? Would that make it all better? Leaving a cousin to inherit. Would it be his destiny either?’
He raised his hand, the mark showing. ‘I do not care at this moment. I must get to London, find a wife, bed her and produce a child. Hopefully before nightfall.’
‘Oh...’ She dragged out the word. ‘More’s the pity.’
He lowered his chin.
‘From where I was born,’ she said, ‘even the people who cannot read have no trouble with that.’
‘You witch. It is not quite the same for me.’
‘I imagine you will find some way to have pleasure doing it. I have heard it can be done.’
‘An unmarried woman is not supposed to know about these things.’
‘And what turnip were you born under?’
‘Not the same one as you, apparently.’
‘Now go to London and do as you must.’ She put a foot beside his and moved down the stairway, turning back to him. ‘Safe journey.’
‘Bellona.’ He rushed after her and caught her arm. His voice softened. ‘I cannot leave you like this.’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘I don’t want to be alone now, and there is no one in the world I would rather be with than you. And perhaps you are right. Perhaps you are the one able to see this clearly without the heart being involved.’
She didn’t answer, but her hand grazed her skirt, above the red blemish hidden from view.
Chapter Fifteen
She continued down the stairway and heard his footsteps behind her. She rushed ahead, moving to the servants’ quarters where she could shut out the world above the stairs. No one was about and she moved to the small room she’d taken over.
Only the door didn’t shut when she pressed it. Rhys’s hand caught it and pushed it open again.
‘So this is the room where you feel safe,’ he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.
‘Yes. It is more my world than any other room in the house. You can see it for what it is.’ Even as he looked around, she knew he could only see the room. He couldn’t see the truth of her past. This room was a palace compared to where she’d grown up on Melos.
Nothing marred by salt from sea air. Nothing marred by life. This room had belonged to a scullery maid and it was the closest she’d found in the house to what she’d had.
His eyes furrowed. ‘I did not know such a place even existed in my home.’
The small bed had a washstand beside it. Resting on the washstand was a small mirror propped against the wall, a tallow candle and Robinson Crusoe’s tale.
‘This is how most of the servants’ rooms are.’
The bed covering wasn’t torn. The walls were solid. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and saw no stains. At the washstand, she pushed against it. No wobble. ‘I am sure Mr Crusoe would have been pleased to have such a place on his island. I would have.’
Rhys sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled and his chin resting on them. He raised his eyebrows. ‘I have been angry these last few years. Enraged that my sister died, my father and then my brother. Now I anger at even my mother, who suffers deeply.’
